


probably a pleasant surprise

by lejf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8594257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/lejf
Summary: In retrospect, Dean should’ve realised as soon as Sam stepped out of the bathroom that his little brother was a little too convincing at playing Omega.





	

“I think I’ve found a good company,” Sammy said, squinting at his screen in that hunched-up position of his at the laptop. He had a space-defying propensity for folding up like a crane (origami, bird _and_ machine) whenever he sat. That height of his just disappeared into some sort of fifth dimension. Seriously, Dean couldn’t count on his good two hands how many people had needed to reconsider the fights they’d been picking when Sam stood up from a bar stool or something and they’d realised they were actually facing a _very_ tall, _very_ muscular and very angry Alpha.

But hey, Dean sure appreciated Sam’s compacting skills. “Yeah? Lay it on me.”

“They ship quickly, too.” Everything about Sammy’s existence was unfair. Especially the way he furrowed his eyebrows when he was concentrating and gnawed on the inside of his mouth or his lips. “And the reviews are really good. Apparently it can actually last for over two days even if you try to wash it off. And while they can’t tell you what it’ll smell like because it changes with each person’s chemistry, I think I’ll get-” Sam looked up. “Dean? Are you even paying attention?”

“Talking about which perfume you were gonna get, Samantha,” Dean said, sauntering around to the shower. He heard Sam say something that sounded a bit like, “ _You literally asked for me to tell you, why are you–_ ” before the bathroom door shut behind him.

See, thing was, Dean’s dick was a bit conflicted about the situation. On one hand, Sammy smelling like an Omega. On the other hand, finding that really appealing kind of put him on the same level as the knotheads as the Omega-smuggling ring they were trying to shut down.

An Omega-smuggling, slave-trading, occasionally vampiric ring, at that. The ring itself was overly covert. They’d barely gotten anything about it, just hints of its existence, where and when — no names at all. Picked up the trail on a whisper.

Dean was gonna go in as a prospective buyer and seller. Sammy was going in as an Omega. Apparently there were some pretty nifty things online that Sammy could pick up to make him hide his natural scent as an Alpha. Personally, Dean wasn’t sure how Sam was gonna pass off all his bulk, but hey, Sam’d been weirdly insistent about being the Omega, and Dean wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to go flaunting himself as an Omega slave.

Dean was expecting the stuff to make Sam to smell just a little bit nicer or something. Like, he was expecting Sam to smell mostly bland, like Betas did, with just a hint of the telltale cloying curl of an Omega’s scent.

So he was totally bowled off his ass when he opened the motel door the day of the infiltration after grabbing lunch. It flooded him in a wave. All the blood in his head rushed to his dick and his gasp only gave him another gulpful of the scent was, quite undeniably, _Sammy_.

“Holy shit, leave a five star review,” he managed. Sam looked up. He was half-dressed in the clothes they’d be wearing during the hunt tonight: simple tight black shirt and jeans. They didn’t know the dress code, so they’d had to make do with what was plain and least likely to offend.

Except Dean didn’t really care right then, because, hello? Upper brain functions not online. The way the jeans clung to Sam’s legs and his shirt clung to his torso made Dean twitch in his pants.

“Sam–” he said, and then wasn’t quite sure what he was gonna say after that.

“Yeah?” Sam asked. His eyes widened at the sight of Dean, flushed high and probably panting a little. “Wait, shit, sorry. Is it too strong?”

Immediately Dean shook his head. No way he was going to tell Sam to stop smelling like sin. “That’s perfect.” He wondered how obvious his hard-on was and surreptitiously tried to tug his shirt lower. Sammy turned away, back to where he was putting on his socks. “Alphas are gonna be all over you,” he said, and tried not to let some base part of him feel irritated at that.

Some hours later and that was true. Dean still hadn’t gotten used to the smell of Sam, much less the feel of those muscles tensing under his hand as he led Sam into the compound with a solid arm around his neck. The bouncers and guards leered at him, and one or two reached out a hand to grope. Dean didn’t jerk him away — he was here to ‘sell’ Sam, for Chrissakes —, but Sam definitely flinched under the unwelcome touches.

Dean was starting to regret not fighting Sam harder on taking the Omega role himself.

Inside opened up into a surprisingly reserved ballroom. There was a podium up front, chandeliers gleaming from the ceiling, huge wooden doors against the far walls. Alphas milled about with pretty little girls under their arms, but eyes definitely turned as soon as Sam walked through the door. Male Omegas were rare. Dean was practically sweating where he stood, praying that Sam’s artificial scent would hold up, but still he pasted on the best leer he could.

Dean just slipped in like a fish into a stream, smiling at knotheads and making some semblance of polite-talk. There were more people than he'd expected. He had Sam gripped tightly to him: a sweet-smelling line of heat against his side. People eyed him like meat up on a rack, and that was when Dean decided: To hell with the plan. He was going to pass Sam off as an Omega he owned for show, rather than one he wanted to sell. He’d just demand to see where the Omegas were housed when he was ‘buying’ them. No way was he letting Sam loose into this dog-pen.

The owner of the establishment was impossible to miss. Jewels dangled from his fur-laden clothing and the sliminess of that smile couldn’t have been wiped off with all the force in the world. He appeared at Dean’s side, saying, “Why hello, sir. I don’t seem to recognise your face around here.”

“I'm Mr. Eddison. Please to make your acquaintance,” Dean said, with a strained smile that really meant _I hope you eat your entrails and rot at the bottom of the sea._ “I’m just here to view the excellent Omegas you have on display today — no interest in selling.”

He felt more than saw Sam stiffen. If it wouldn’t be incriminating to, Sam would’ve jabbed an elbow into Dean’s ribs. He looked over at Sam while the foul man made his excuses, obviously uninterested now that Dean had said he wasn’t selling. His brother’s face was stony, set into a warning of a long lecture later. The could practically feel Sam’s brain waves from here: _why the hell did you tell him you weren’t interested in selling, Dean? How else are we going to get behind the scenes?_

Yeah, fuck lectures. The Omegas and their owners trickled away until the room was mostly filled with Alphas. And Sam. Well, no, Sam was still actually an Alpha, but he just– Dean couldn’t imagine the bloodbath that’d occur if someone realised Sam wasn’t what he was advertising himself to be. The worst part of it was that Sam was soaking up the attention, coyly tucking himself into Dean’s side and peering out with his fox-like eyes at the many who were watching him. Obviously he was still playing it up. Dean could sense the exaggerated sway in his walk and the meekness he pulled around him like a cover. His real Sammy wouldn’t have done something as stereotypically Omega as that.

The side doors opened to admit guests into the viewing areas when the clock ticked over. Roped off were squared areas where Omegas and their handlers were on display, playing with their still-clothed Omegas and making them squeal on their laps. Dean looked away. It was repulsive. He saw an Alpha leer at one of the Omegas on display and bargain with her handler that her shirt should be removed.

Sam was dragging his feet so Dean was basically leading him through the crowd by the hand. Dean shot a look at him — not that he was the only one. All around him Alphas were watching Sam, a few even daring to approach Dean. Most of them veered away as soon as they saw Dean’s expression, though. It was a sign of _hands off,_ clear as you please.

As the hours dragged on, Dean caught sight of one or two figures disappearing behind otherwise locked doors, ushered in by staff members standing around. They were most certainly vampires. He needed another method to get inside. When he tried to consult Sam for plans, Sam stonily ignored him.

Around them, the handlers had been increasingly coerced to strip the Omegas down. Omegas were openly sauntering around their roped off areas, displaying their slick-soaked panties to the agitated Alphas. Dean tried not to look, but the disgusting shows were everywhere. Omegas, their tits bared to hungry eyes, mewling against their handler as a hand was shoved down their panties and groping them eagerly.

Then he realised his own hand was empty.

The realisation was sudden; a void collapsing inwards inside him. One second he’d been aware of Sammy and his sweet scent, his warm hand clasped in his — the next, gone. Dean whirled around to see Sam talking to another Alpha across the room, a sea of people separating them (when the hell had he gotten there?), and the Alpha snaking an arm around his brother’s hips...

Dean shoved his through the crowd, Sam flickering in his vision through unimportant faces and bodies. Sam, smiling. The Alpha leaning in. Sam whispering in his ear. Sam being led away. No way, man. No way. “Get out of my way!” Dean snarled, shoving.

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” another Alpha said, turning to look at him, affronted. Dean batted them aside.

“Sammy!” he called.

But when he looked, Sam wasn’t there anymore. Both the Alpha and Sam were gone. Dean’s heart began to race double-time, his breath suddenly constricted in his lungs, red flooding his system as he scanned left and right, to no avail. Somebody had _stolen_ _Sam!_ Given, Sam had probably gone willingly, and Sam actually was an Alpha, and Sam was absolutely capable, but Dean was still flooded with an irrational fear.

Sammy, smelling like he did, his fake-Omega scent too good to be true, luring and burning all these Alphas like moths in his flame.

He marched up to one of the guarded doors, and barked, “Excuse me.”

An Alpha looked up, bored. “Sorry, VIPs, Omegas and their stockers only.”

“My Omega’s in there,” Dean insisted.

“What,” the Alpha said, “you let her run off her leash or something?

“No-” he snapped.

“Unless the man himself can vouch for you, get lost. Knothead.”

He was deeply tempted to cause a scene, punch the guy in the face or something, but Dean had to be rational. He spun on his heel away from the Alpha. The outside was heavily patrolled (they’d learnt that, prior); he’d just have to find one of the doors that _wasn’t_ guarded. He prowled the showroom, looking for an entrance that was relatively out-of-sight, but the entirety of the showroom could be seen from one end to another.

In the hallway that led to the bathroom, there was a 'staff only' door. Holding his breath, Dean had the lock picked in no time and was slipping into another dimly lit corridor, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. The lights lining the halls here were a thousand times less gaudy, the carpet thin, and a thick stench of heat stunk the place. Dean moved like he belonged there, a knife tucked up his sleeve and a stake in the other.

The blankness of the wall to his right was suddenly interrupted by the sudden appearance of doors. Dean considered the one closest to him, tried to look through the keyhole, then opened it a crack. There was no rush of sound, thankfully meaning it didn’t open into the showroom. There was no rush of thick Omega slick, either, so not one of their private shows.

When he glanced in, he nearly thanked his lucky stars. Except Sam wasn’t in there, so he didn't. But otherwise, lying sprawled across opulent couches, were what seemed to be drunk vampires. Bottles and bottles of blood were opened and strewn across the room, glasses were mostly empty, and the vampires were dozing off their recent blood-binge. Like sex, they tended to be satiated after a good feeding.

Dean killed them neatly, one by one, plunging the stake into their chests. Then he worked hurriedly with his knife to remove their heads, just for safety’s sake. When he was done, he wiped the blood onto the nearest vampire’s shirt. Easiest and most convenient hunt in his lifetime. Except Sammy was still missing.

He paused as he was leaving the room, taking a sniff of the blood in the cups. Omegas'. That was pretty despicable, not gonna lie.

The hallway was still empty when he emerged, and he took to scanning the rest of the doors. There had to be some sort of marker for what room was for what. Seriously. How was anyone supposed to get around in a place like this? How the hell was he supposed to find Sammy in this shit? What if that Alpha’d stripped Sammy and found that he wasn’t actually an Omega? What if Sammy hadn’t been quick enough to overpower him?

Sam was strong, he reassured himself. Sam could beat up anyone, on a good day. Except Dean.

The hallway took a turn up ahead, and suddenly Dean caught wind of voices. A familiar one. The owner of this forsaken place. He hurried back the way he came, not wanting to duck into any old room, and then he realised suddenly that he had no idea which door hid the dead vampires.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck — he couldn’t really hide in that room, either. What if they entered that one and found Dean in there?

The only option was to leave entirely.

He scampered back the way he came, still hearing the owner chatting somewhere behind him, slinking out the door he’d entered by with an exhale.

Then someone walked out of the bathroom. They stopped and stared at Dean, brow furrowing. It was the Alpha Dean had shoved before in the showroom when he'd been trying to get to Sam. In a flash of recognition, they opened their mouth–

Dean socked them straight in the face and dragged their body into bathroom. Someone was in one of the cubicles. No one at the urinals. Holy shit. He quickly worked on the janitor’s closet’s lock, the unconscious Alpha’s head lolling against his leg.

The toilet flushed as he shoved the body in, shutting the door as quickly as he could while the lock clicked back into place. Then he nonchalantly strode to one of the cubicles and sat on a toilet, breathing hard as he listened to the person outside wash their hands. He only left when the door swung shut.

That had been too many close calls. By the time Dean ducked back into the showroom, he was praying that Sam would’ve left, too. Maybe he was looking for Dean somewhere, having stumbled upon the dead vampires already. Dean was making his way aimlessly around the crowd, mentally setting a timer for another half-hour before he’d try again with the staff only door.

A familiar scent made his head snap up. Sam? He had hardly noticed that the crowd around him had thickened, and that all the Alphas were swarming to one display. Dean moved as though in a trace, his gut suddenly lurching in fear.

Sam was there within one of the roped-off enclosures, on his knees, face pressed to the floor, hair splayed out around him, ass facing the crowd. The Alpha was undoing Sam’s belt, pushing it down. Dean was too far away. “No!” he yelled, but his voice was drowned out in the rest of the Alphas’ jeers. “Sam!” There'd be an uproar at the trickery.

Sam must’ve heard him, because his head jerked upwards, but it was quickly shoved back to the floor by the Alpha and something in Dean roared.

Dean’s gun was in hand when he heard Sam’s belt buckle hit the floor. He was expecting enraged yells, protests, a sudden explosion of violence at the sight of an Alpha, but there was... nothing. The Alphas around him only jeered even more loudly, calling for “that sweet hole” and “little bitch!”

The people blocking his view shifted for a moment and Dean caught sight of Sam, presented for everybody to see, his white underwear unmistakably wet. There was only a small hint of it soaking through the fabric, but it was there. His own dick jumped in his pants in a sudden hot surge of wanting.

Dean’s relief was not long-lived. So Sammy had the ingenuity to put fake slick in himself. Okay, great. Sam was _still up there,_ for fuck’s sake! Dean was gonna get there and fight the shit out of the Alpha masquerading as Sam’s seller. Sammy was _his._ Sam– he smelt so _good._ It was impossible.

As he pushed and shoved and inevitably got in a few stand-offs, Sam’s underwear came off and was flung into the raving crowd. His trousers followed. Alphas scrambled after it, and Dean took it as an opportunity to get closer. “Sam!” he yelled. He needed to communicate with Sam: Sam needed to be on board if they were gonna get away as quickly as possible. People were yelling prices at the handler, who was grinning manically. Dean was going to string him from gut to gut. 

Then he caught sight of Sam’s _hole,_ glistening and impossibly wet, the— wait a minute.

Sam was leaking enough that he was arching his back and whining. A finger was disappearing into him, being wrapped up in his warmth, slick running down the side of his thigh. If–

He was–

That wasn’t pre-applied, fake slick. Dean’s mind ground to a halt. It would’ve soaked right through his trousers if that much had been– had been in Sam when they first came.

In slow and terrifying clarity, Dean ran over each and every time he caught Sam sneaking out to “buy lube” for hookups even though he never got any, the unlabelled medicine bottle Sam took “for migraines”, the one dildo he found when Sammy was young and teased him endlessly for.

How could he have been so _stupid?_

Without conscious thought, he pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang out in the showroom, loud and clear, marble shattering beneath him as the bullet dug into the floor. Shouting erupted around him. Dean was running and he vaulted over the red barricade and he was up in the Alpha’s face in an instant, punching him while screaming something like, “Get your dirty fucking hands off!”

Violence erupted. Dean pointed his gun upwards and shot one of the chandeliers, glass plummeting to the floor in an ear-shattering crash. Then he had Sammy in his hands, his long legs folded up over his arm, and was running before security could snap into action.

Sam was warm and alive, his scent so strong and Dean wanted to punch _himself_ for missing it before. Sam was– he was even in _heat._ Was this the first time he’d gone off suppressants in a long time?

Dean fought his way through the front doors, an easy feat considering the rest of the guests were all barging through security and fleeing. The outside air was a startling shock in comparison to the stuffiness and heady scents that had been building up in the showroom for the past hours. His shoes thudded off concrete, and before they knew it he was throwing open the Impala’s doors to shove Sam in. Sam’s legs were still bare, uncovered, pale and slender under the moonlight. His flush was building up high, and his eyes seemed to be fixed on Dean.

Jesus fuck. They had to get out of there. He caught sight of the owner’s silhouette in the front doors, yelling at the Alphas to stay calm.

Dean gunned it.

 

——

 

The last part of the drive was through half-delirium. Sam was– was in _heat,_ and Dean could only stumble back to their room and then lock himself in the bathroom with the remaining sanity he had. His dick throbbed against him painfully, and it was with a cry that he peeled off his jeans and fisted his cock desperately, coming with a shout for his brother that he heard echoed on the other side of the door.

His knot swelled up against his fingers and his shout choked off to become a whine. He rubbed himself against the door to where he could smell Sam; his beautiful, gorgeous Sam. "Want you so much," he whispered to the wood. 

Sam had been violated enough today. Dean was not going to hurt him any more.

“Dean,” he could hear Sam gasping. “Dean, please, Dean.”

It went against his every instinct, brother and Alpha, but he peeled himself away, stumbling back.

He slept in the bath, aching with every cry Sam let out for him.

 

——

 

The next morning, Sam had somehow picked open the bathroom door and was standing over the bath, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“I was drugged,” he said.

“What?” Dean replied. His eyes were still bleary. His muscles ached. He was also still sporting a hard-on, no matter what his sleeping arrangements.

“They put on a patch,” Sam said, frowning at Dean’s state. “It wore off. Thanks for, you know, leaving me squirming on the bed for a whole night.”

“I wasn’t going to _rape_ you,” Dean bit back, rising. Sam looked no different now that Dean knew he was an Omega. He was still Sam: every bit as large as he had been before. He just smelled different. And produced slick from his ass. And, um, Dean’s fantasies had just gotten a lot more material.

“Idiot,” Sam snapped, then grabbed Dean by the shirt and hauled him into an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss filled with teeth and saliva.

Dean pulled away after a moment. Maybe his brain had died and gone to heaven. Maybe he just wasn’t processing things correctly. Maybe Sam was still addled. Or maybe his priorities were just screwed up, because all he said was, “Morning breath, dude. I’m _so_ gross right now, holy shit–”

Sam clearly had no time for that. He practically dragged Dean to the bedroom. “Sam, Sam, hold up, wait, are you not gonna tell me just how long you were going to keep _that_ secret under your belt?”

That stopped him. Sam paused, then said, “I was going to tell you after this hunt. Well– the suppressants don’t really kick in immediately, so you would’ve figured it out anyway.”

“Oh,” Dean said, then _he_ was the one tugging Sam to the bed and peeling off all his clothes as soon as possible. “Can we fuck?” he asked, coherently, while throwing his shirt across the room. “You know, as a Omega and Alpha thing,”—he kicked off his underwear; it got tangled on his foot— “not like I’ve secretly been wanting to bone you for, like, years. Nope. That's not true.”

“Christ, Dean,” Sam replied. He was smiling and shaking his big shaggy head. “You’re hopeless.” Sam was naked, and, okay, Dean could appreciate that. A lot.

But for all that Sam would insult him, apparently he was willing to slide into Dean’s lap and kiss him — and of course Dean kissed back, cupping his face like some sort of coveted prize, feeling their bodies fit together, chest to chest, skin to skin, in a way they hadn’t for years. Sam was a warm and real heat under his hands, smiling against his jaw when he kissed his way down Dean’s chest.

Dean couldn’t stop nuzzling into his skin, inhaling deep and unfiltered the smell of Sam, running his hands over his back and feeling the muscles shift under the broad spread of his hands. Sam bucked helplessly into him with a groan when he reached his hole, dipping his finger into the slickness there. Dean mirrored the noise, the heat clutching at his finger and fluttering. Wetness was smearing across his thighs and his cock.

“So pretty,” Dean said, nosing under Sam’s jaw.

“Not a girl,” Sam mumbled back. He was rocking his hips back and forth, letting Dean’s cock kiss the rim of his hole each time. Tease.

“So handsome, then,” Dean said, smiling widely, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Manliest man I know. Hair all over your chest, glorious moustache–”

“Please shut up,” Sam said, covering Dean’s mouth with his, then reaching back and lining Dean up to his hole. He sunk down slowly and Dean swallowed his moan.

Dean had never had sex with an Omega. It was a rule of his. Omegas meant tying and deeper bonds than he wanted to handle. He just tended to go for the pretty little Betas.

Except there was no bond with Sam that he would flinch from.

“So good,” Dean was whispering with reverence as he rolled his hips upwards, the sensation of Sam around him blurring everything else. It didn't need to: Sam had _always_ been the centre of his world and sight. “So good, Sammy, so good.” Sam arched against him, keening.

As Sam unravelled under his hands and on his knot, Dean could see it clear as day. It was a simple, unequivocal fact that Sam seemed to forever be intent on concealing under suppressants and floppy bangs: Sam was all the goodness that Dean had ever created and would ever see, incarnated and whole.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so disgustingly unedited. i wrote "jews" instead of "jewels" at one point. if i've made an equally embarrassing spelling error somewhere else... please tell me.
> 
> also, dean "whispering to the wood". can't get over it.
> 
> i also only realised this morning that i'm a horribly misleading liar. sam never steps out of the bathroom at any point. _never_ , dude. why did i put that in the summary?


End file.
